


Changes

by Lyricanna



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, siegfried - sword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyricanna/pseuds/Lyricanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since there are a few fics about Leo first learning to decipher/use Brynhyldr, I decided that Xander needed a fic for how Siegfried came into his possession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Since ages are not confirmed for Fates, I head-canon Xander at about 28 in the main story arc. We know that Corrin was kidnapped as a small child (about 4) so I put Xander at about 14 when that occurred (since I believe Corrin was mentioned to be about 18 in the main story). This is set pre-game. Also, I haven't written fan-fiction in years, I don't have a beta-reader/editor, so please be kind ^^;

There were plenty of things he could be seeing to in his father's absence; he was all but in charge since there was no living queen and no current royal consort. Xander's lips twisted in distaste but he smoothed his features despite being alone. He needed to be in control of his emotions and expressions at all times; a prince could not be too easy to read. A king less so. Still, the women clamouring for a hint of a title was sickening. What they put his half siblings up to was worse. And he had no power to intervene; the price of safety that being crown prince afforded him. He sighed, trying to clear the thoughts form his mind. Worrying over what he could not change was as useless as what he was currently doing. Maybe more.

It was the third time in as many days that he had found himself outside the royal armoury. He knew it was foolish but he felt inexplicably drawn to the heavily locked room – or something in it. He knew from having inventoried it himself that it housed some of the most powerful weapons in the castle; swords, axes, bows and lances that had been forged using magic arts long lost or that had spirits bound to them. And one sword said to have been forged by a dragon. Or a god. The lore varied. The other such weapon was a tome, housed in the old archives, where other sacred magical texts were stored. Some of those weapons were able to choose their wielders, or so it was said. Which was why the pulling, the itch that was growing in his skin was ridiculous; he had done nothing worthy of being chosen. He may be the first prince and heir apparent but he had yet to accomplish anything of note. He couldn't even stand up to his father, he thought bitterly.

Yet he still stood before that door staring. There were only two keys to it that he knew of; one in the King's possession. The other he chose not to think about. Thinking might lead to looking and looking might lead to taking – the key belonged to no one living but that did not mean it was there to be taken by whoever – and taking would lead to unlocking that door. He was not exactly forbidden the royal armoury but he had never entered without express permission. He doubted his father would view his doing so as anything other than rebellion, however minor. Xander did not need to think too far back to remember how severe punishments for simple defiance could be. And he could not justify the action anyway; he had no right. And yet...

He chewed his lip for a moment and then made himself stop. He had too many nervous habits that he was trying to break. None of which were particularly becoming, as Camilla would phrase it. She was barely eleven and already the picture of elegance, while he felt awkward and gangly in comparison. Even so, he was glad that his father had formally recognized her; she was safe. Or as safe as any bastard child of the Nohrian king could be. He wanted to keep her safe; she was the only one of his siblings that he had connected with so far. And he had hopes for Leo too...

 _'I'm going to walk away now. I could be seeing to my siblings, smoothing things over so that no one dies while father is away...'_ he thought. He took a step closer to the door and laid a hand on it. The sensation of being drawn, the urgency of it only increased.

With an effort, he pulled himself away and turned from the armoury door. He couldn't afford to indulge any foolishness, not when it could end painfully. He was as much a survivor as any of his siblings – being spared from the fighting that was encouraged between them had not spared him from assassination attempts – and he knew to avoid needless pain. To avoid needlessly displeasing his father. It was logical to go and tend to his studies or to check on the day to day tasks required to operate the castle or to file a report on the morning's discussions about taxes – the farmers couldn't pay, another drought had stifled their crops – or...

His feet took him elsewhere than his study. Away from the armoury and to the unused hallway that only he ever visited anymore. All of the rooms in this hall had belonged to his mother, queen Katerina. When she had died – or been killed, Xander wasn't sure which – king Garon had had the rooms closed off. No one else had been permitted to inhabit them, not even Arete during her brief reign as queen. Queen Katerina's things had been left as they were. A maid was sent to dust once every month or two but nothing was to be moved or removed as per king Garon's orders. A magical ward kept the contents from rotting or falling to pieces.

Xander knew the contents of every room by heart. They had become a refuge when he needed to think or be alone. Or when he needed to remember. It was easier to conjure up her image in his mind when he was amongst her possessions, in the one space that had been truly hers. It was the one sentimentality that his father actually seemed to understand, the one that had never been discouraged even if it was never openly spoken of. But then, aside form court matters, aside from Xander's training, there was little that the two of them did speak of.

He unlocked the door to his mother's study before he realised which room he was walking into. He froze. He was there to think. To calm his mind. Not to take that key... But it was there. On her desk where she had left it, next to old account books and her journal. He forced himself to walk past the desk and look out the window. The gardens had been hers too but they were nothing beautiful now; chocked with the thorn covered vines that grew so well in the dark, harsh climate, not a flower or fruit showed through anymore. So much had died with her.

Xander sighed and turned to leave. It had been a mistake to come in here, feeling the way that he was. He forced his hands to his sides and refused to touch the key on his way out.

 

 

It took only another two days for his resolve to shatter. The feeling of being called, drawn had gotten worse. He couldn't sleep and his skin felt almost feverish. He had gone to find a healer and had been told that he was in perfect health. He had then gone to the library and read every manuscript he could find that mentioned weapons that chose their wielders, from the sacred to the possessed to those forged in magic and blood. Something in the armoury was calling him; that was the only logical conclusion. Except that he was not worthy of being called. That detail was painfully clear in his own mind.

With a last glance around for any guards, Xander twisted the key in the heavy lock and entered the room quickly. It was much as he had last seen it; three walls lined with weapon racks, one devoted each to swords, lances and axes, with stands holding bows in the centre of the room. Each weapon had a small plaque beside or below it, naming it, dating it and in some cases warning the unwary hand against its use. Ganglari had a warning that read “malevolent will; not to be handled by the pure hearted.” Xander could practically feel the ill intent rolling off of it in waves as he passed it by. A lance on the opposite wall had a warning that it was not to be used in dry brush; it was infused with fire and had burned down a village and all of the surrounding area before being housed in the royal armoury.

The prince ignored all of the weapons around him, only making sure to avoid contact with the worst. He stopped at the centre of the far wall, staring at one of the few weapons in the room he had not handled during the inventory. He wanted to reach for it now, despite the warnings rolling through his head.

Siegfried only ever had one wielder at a time and it could be violent towards those it deemed unworthy. There were rumours about what had stopped Garon from wielding it. One stated that the dark flames that licked the blade simply went out and the sword refused to cut while in Garon's hand; another said that the flames had lashed out at him, burning him in its rejection. Xander shivered at that. He didn't know which – if either – of those rumours were true. But the sword seemed to be calling to him now and despite the fear, he found himself reaching for it.

This was more than just fear of reprimand, more than trespass, yet he couldn't help himself. The sword was demanding his attention. It had a will of its own, a personality some writers had said. In the moment when his hand closed around the hilt and pulled the blade from the wall, he knew it for truth. He felt compelled to draw it from its – his, the sword was male – sheath and he did so, momentarily blinding himself with the bloody light it unleashed. The flames blazed and then pulsed quietly along the blade. The heat seemed to be sliding into his skin, like a spell. He didn't fight it. He doubted he could have; magic was not his forte and this wasn't battle magic. He didn't know how to fight this. More alarming, he didn't want to.

The heat faded as suddenly as it came but the light remained. Xander looked away, trying to allow his eyes to adjust more easily but he was drawn back to the blade he held. He was holding a sacred weapon, one that had called to him and it hadn't turned against him. Instead it was merely... waiting.

 _'I have done nothing to deserve this'_ , he thought as the shock receded and panic began to set in. _'I am not worthy.'_

_But you will be,_ came the answering whisper. He almost dropped the sword in surprise. Of course it had a will, why not a voice?  _'Or I have taken leave of my senses.'_ That seemed more likely every second he stood there.

_War looms and I am needed. You will grow into me, sword-bearer._ The sword – Siegfried; he really should refer to it by name – sounded amused. He could feel it taking its measure of him, considering. The mutual awareness was already beginning to feel natural, right. His doubts almost melted away as he sheathed the blade and attached the scabbard to his belt. He kept a hand on the hilt as he left the armoury.

_'And you won't turn on me?'_ he thought the question, knowing it would be heard. He supposed that he should be concerned over the lack of privacy in his thoughts from here on out but it was a passing concern. It didn't matter really. Siegfried was already settling into the back of his mind, like another sense that had always been there.

_I do not serve monsters._ An odd reply but then, the whole situation was odd. Yet Xander found himself nodding as if it made sense, as if he wasn't alarmed by the implicit accusation. 

War then. With Hoshido most likely. He hoped it wouldn't come to that but he knew better than to rely on hope. Which meant he'd be in the fighting. He glanced down at the sword at his hip; with a weapon like that at his side, his father might put him in charge of a regiment. He would need to practice, to learn the weight and capabilities of his new weapon. And brush up on military history and tactics. And resume his studies of battle magic; the sage that tutored him said he'd only ever be a “capable” mage at best but it was better to learn even if it was only to better counter something he might one day face. And he wasn't finished training his war-horse; the animal would be a formidable weapon himself once he was properly mastered..

“There you are!”

Xander's head snapped up to see his sister almost running down the hall to meet him. Camilla rarely hurried; she was almost always in control. Until there was someone to kill; then she was a blend of elegance and bloody chaos. She was eleven; an unlikely killer and an unlikely ally. Despite everything, Xander was fond of her.

“Father has returned. He's in the throne room, with his advisors and some of the guards that left with him,” she explained as she fell into step with her older brother. “He's back early but even so... he was surprised that you weren't there.” Here brows knit together in a brief frown before her face smoothed back into her usual smile. Anyone who thought her vapid because of that smile or weak because of her slight figure was making a mistake.

“Is he displeased?” Xander asked more calmly than he felt.

Camilla shook her head, sending her purple waves of hair cascading over a slender shoulder. “Preoccupied. I... Rumours say that the Hoshidan king is dead.”

“Father will let us know what we need to,” Xander replied slowly. He sped his pace, not wanting to keep his father waiting.

“What is that?” Camilla asked slowly peering around him. Xander stumbled; just like that he had forgotten he had taken a sacred weapon from the armoury. Without permission. He caught himself and forced himself to keep walking, to breathe evenly.

“Siegfried,” he answered quietly. He saw Camilla's eyes widen but before she could respond they were at the door to the large throne room. He took another breath and pushed the door open.

He tried to walk to the other end of the room with confidence, but the throne room was ringed with terraced balconies that always made the spot between his shoulder blades itch when he thought about them. There were too many places in those balconies to hide an assassin. At least one of his siblings had been killed by an assailant that had made use of them to hide and escape before guards could climb all of the back stairways in time.

There appeared to be some sort of commotion surrounding his father. The king was standing, which was good; judgments, punishments came from the throne. Not that they couldn't come later, Xander supposed. He tried not to think off that as he approached.

It wasn't until he was close enough to bow respectfully that he caught the object of discussion; a dazed and scared looking child. Xander completed the bow smoothly and turned his attention to the girl. She was small, Leo's age maybe, with pale skin and paler hair. Her eyes were a violent red that seemed to not really see anything around her. She didn't look like kin but then no one would know that him and Camilla were related without being told either.

He looked a question at Camilla who subtly shook her head; she didn't know the child either. Another sibling or a hostage? Or maybe just another foundling; children were left at the castle gates sometimes by parents without the means or desire to raise them. They were usually found work if they were capable; if not they were left to fend for themselves in the world. But they were rarely brought to the attention of the king. Not a foundling then, not likely.

“It seems you have done well in my absence,” Garon said, turning to his son at last. “Although that is unexpected.”

Xander felt every eye in the room turn to him, trying to figure out the second part of the comment. A few recognized Siegfried and gasped or grunted in surprise. He wanted to bolt; he hated so many eyes on him at once. He forced himself to meet his father's gaze.

“It was time,” he replied awkwardly. “I know I will be called to serve Nohr soon. Siegfried could not sit idle.”

“It suits you,” his father said after too long of a pause.

“Father, who is... our guest?” Camilla asked timidly. Something in her posture told Xander that she would have been caressing the handle of her axe if she had had it to hand.

“The child is one of mine; the Hoshidans attempted to keep her from me. She is where she belongs now.” The smile that accompanied the words was cold.

 _Liar_. Xander wasn't sure if the thought came from his mind or from Siegfried but he was sure there was something being left out. 'What game are you playing father?'

“Find her a room. If she doesn't recover soon, she'll be sent away to the Northern Fortress. She has been through a difficult ordeal,” the king said, turning away from his children. It was a clear dismissal. Xander and Camilla shared a brief look and both bowed formally even though their father had already moved on to discussing more important matters with his advisors and generals.

Xander walked over to the girl slowly. She appeared to be unarmed, scared and harmless. But scared animals often lashed out, especially at strangers.

“Brother?” she asked timidly. The lost sound of her high little voice made Xander's heart clench. He knew he cared too easily and tried to force the protective feelings away. The soundless tears that started to flow down her cheeks ruined his resolve instantly.

“Yes,” he said quietly and moved to pick her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck as if it were the most natural thing to do. “I'm your brother, Xander. And this is your sister Camilla,” he said quietly as he walked over.

“We'll take care of you, little darling,” Camilla said sweetly. She smoothed the girl's hair gently.

They walked in silence until they reached the upper levels where the royal siblings had their rooms.

“How long before her presence is noticed by the others,” Xander asked, half a question, half resignation. The other courtesans and their children would notice eventually. And with no mother or retainers to protect her, the child would be an easy target.

“A day maybe. If their spies haven't relayed the news already,” Camilla answered. Xander nodded; he hadn't needed her answer.

“I'll take the first watch,” he said. “Until we can find her some proper care takers.”

“I'll come to see you around midnight and take over.” Camilla surprised him by standing on tiptoe to kiss the girl goodbye before turning the corner to make her way to her own rooms. She left Xander standing there, holding the sleeping girl. He barely felt her weight; his conflicting sense of duty, the sense that the world had changed over night pressed down on him far harder.

 


End file.
